


you and i are monsters; we'll not find another

by Princex_N



Series: making strange with one another [7]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Disorganized Speech, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Mental Health Issues, Sleep Deprivation, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Their brother's hands go under their face, and they allow it, let the probing fingers slip under the edge of their plastic skin to check for blood on their flesh, but there is nothing there this time. He seems surprised."Gift," they tell him, hands steady and almost awed, because it is, in a way. A gift for both of them and neither of them all at once.
Relationships: Brian & Timothy "Tim" W., Hoody & Masky
Series: making strange with one another [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711201
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	you and i are monsters; we'll not find another

**Author's Note:**

> title from Keaton Henson's song [It's Alright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwZ7duewhng)

They blink open their eyes with their mask already in their hands, and marvel at the sensation of being called upon instead of only brought on by circumstance. It is new and overwhelming, and they only allow themself a moment to dwell on it before pulling on their mask and rising to their feet. 

Being called upon means they have a job to do, after all. 

Their brother is in the kitchen where the other left him, caught up in an argument with the bird. The liar lingers in the back, watching, and their eyes can't decide if they want to look at him or not (their knee twinges at the sight either way). They don't announce their presence yet, only watch to see for now. 

They can see the way their brother stoops, and they recognize it through the other's eyes as an indication that his back is aching with the old pain that they had not been present to prevent. The rest is familiar to _them_ alone, the bared teeth and wide eyes that stare and Fix and look for answers and paths to safety that do not exist. The tense hold of his hands that tell the story of wanting to move but not being able to - a mouse hoping not to be seen by the lion that lurks in the shadows. They know it all. 

It is a strange thing to miss, but they are a strange thing too. 

They don't speak to announce their arrival - they cannot and never will - but they step forward into the light. Let the pleading edge of the bird's voice taper off in surprise at the sight of them, ignore the ragged laugh of the liar. Their brother moves like he wants to approach, but the pain means that he cannot, so they go to him instead. 

His hands go under their face, and they allow it, let the probing fingers slip under the edge of their plastic skin to check for blood on their flesh, but there is nothing there this time. He seems surprised. 

"Gift," they tell him, hands steady and almost awed, because it is, in a way. A gift for both of them and neither of them all at once. 

"Really?" he asks, tone dancing into something manically amused. "Tim did? I must must must must _must_ be sounding pathetic today. Today. Today. I asked, before, he said he would think but never said y-yes. I'm not," he stops short, cutting off the frantic spill of tangled words with a sharp noise, and they wait. In the silence they see the bird and the liar avert their eyes, and they roam over the memories left from the other and see him think of the fall. It is not the fall. Their brother has been like this almost as long as they've known him, it's how he always sounds, why he knows that the silence is better sometimes. 

The others shouldn't have asked him to use his words if they weren't prepared for how he wields them. 

"Sleep?" they ask when he fails to continue. If it was important, he would tell them later. 

They have to repeat the sign again before he responds, but the words come quickly as soon as he understands. "I can't," he replies swiftly, empty pause forgotten. "The streetlamp outside blew out, they haven't fixed it. I saw it. I saw it. They know. They're watching." 

His knuckles are white around the crutch that supports him, the fingers of his other hand tap frantic at his brow, a steady-unsteady beat. They understand. 

"I can watch," they tell him, meet his searching eyes and let their own be still for once. It isn't new. They are strong, and that's all they have sometimes - they can be strong enough for both of them when needed. 

He wavers. They don't push. "From all of them?" he asks finally, and they nod. It's difficult to say for sure who he's talking about, but they don't mind, and mean it anyway. From strangers, from the tall faceless creature that has haunted them since they were born, from the other, from the bird and the liar - they would protect him from anyone. It would not be a struggle to choose. 

He searches their eyes and they let him see. Safe in the knowledge that there is nothing in them that they would hide from him. When he nods, hesitant, they return it stronger, and let him set the pace towards the mattress in the corner, letting the weight of the bird's prying eyes rest on their shoulders instead of his. 

They've done this before, on the earth and stolen mattresses, in empty broken buildings and open wooded forests, and their situations have changed, but not by much. 

It's easy to fall into place, wait for the indication of where he wants them to lay, wind up curled around his back and feeling the careful way he avoids trapping their hands beneath his body, silent and understated communication that needs no signs or words. They know that it's need and function, but it's still nice, to be here, be the one to defend, to know that they alone where chosen because they are trusted. 

They look up sharp at the sound of footsteps behind them and catch sight of the bird holding something out to them. "It's warm," he explains, anxiety tinging his tone but stubbornness refusing to allow him to step back at their blank threat. "For his back, if he wants it." They hesitate a moment, and accept it, let the liquid inside slosh noisily and wait until the subtle incline of their brother's head to put it between their bodies, holding it in place against his spine with their bad knee pressed against it, warmth seeping into the dull ache.

Their brother isn't resting yet, lips moving soundless around syllables and code he doesn't speak aloud, that they wouldn't understand anyway, the pads of his fingers running harshly against his forehead. They watch and wait, still and silent, and don't push. He lashes out to kick the wall, but doesn't shrug their hand off, so they don't move. They have nowhere to be, no need to rush. Their job isn't to instruct him, but to protect him, and he doesn't need them to do anything else. 

Eventually, he settles. The ragged storm in his head calming long enough to let him sleep for the first time in too long, and they very carefully do not move. Their hand rests flat over his chest and rises and falls with his breath, and they avoid looking at his face directly, if only because whatever emotions that rise in their chest at the trust are too overwhelming to handle at the moment. 

The bird and the liar eventually stop staring at their back, and they return the favor by not fixing their gaze at them while they move and speak to one another. They watch out the window instead, at the half-darkened street and the still clouds and the open vulnerable road. 

If anything out there moves, they will see it. 

So anything should think twice, and stay the fuck still, stay the hell away, if it knows what's good for it. 

They would tear anything to shreds to keep this place safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Masky when TO threatens them: oop. better run.   
> Masky when TO threatens their friend: I Am A Rabid Dog And You Do Not Scare Me


End file.
